


To Fly

by Kirrae



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Altaïr is a novice, M/M, Overuse of the Apple, Songfic - sorta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:24:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirrae/pseuds/Kirrae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The idiot hadn't been seen in days- hadn't slept or eaten and was likely a pile of bones on the floor by now." A short one-shot inspired by Thrice's "A Song for Milly Michaelson."</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Fly

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own AC nor do I own any rights to the characters.

> _“Well you know I hardly speak,_
> 
> _And when I do it’s just for you._
> 
> _I haven’t said a word in weeks_
> 
> _‘Cause they’ve been keepin’ me from you_
> 
> _There’s a way where there’s a will_
> 
> _You know I got no need for stairs._
> 
> _Step out on the window sill_
> 
> _Fall with me into the air._
> 
> _Here we go, hold on tight and don’t let go_
> 
> _I won’t ever let you fall_
> 
> _I love the night, flying o’er these city lights_
> 
> _But I love you most of all”_
> 
>  -  _A Song for Milly Michaelson, Thrice_

* * *

The idiot hadn’t been seen in days- hadn’t slept or eaten and was likely a pile of bones on the floor by now. He had lost all of his hope within that glowing golden orb which represented only evil. It could do nothing for the sake of _good_ because it sucked the life out of those who sought it’s embrace and the idiot was powerless to it. 

Malik marched up to the Grand Master’s door, banged against it roughly - knew the door would be locked. He received no answer, as he expected. _Idiot_. He pulled a pick from the deep pockets of his robes and knelt so the lock was eye level. It was an old motion, the skill one he has had for too many years and has used perhaps too often. The door swung open in moments, the Dai crossed immediately to the desk in the far corner of the sparsely furnished chambers. He poked at the lump of skin that was slumped in the chair, and gained no response. He idly wondered if their Master was dead, but the man in front of him was too stubborn to die. _Once he was_ , the brunette corrected himself, _once but not now_.

He shook the other, to no avail. He considered fetching a glass of water to pour on the other, but reconsidered. It would take too much effort, all wasted on such a _novice_. Instead he yanked the chair out from under Altair, the other tumbled to the ground in an undignified heap and barely conscious. The fall was what did it, not the impact. That feeling of being off-balance, of shifting against your will was something that would wake even the most complacent of men. It was likely even more jarring to experience as a paranoid assassin, but then, it had been months since the Master had even ventured outside of his fortress, outside of his bedroom. 

“Get up fool, I cannot keep taking care of you like this.” 

Altair’s vocal cords failed him from disuse. He managed to whisper something in that aching quality that those without tongues use - a rasping, breathy, choking sound. It was suspiciously along the lines of ‘shut up you bastard, I have work to do.’ Something Malik had often shouted at the other, before all this madness started. Before this _obsession_. 

The once-great Eagle stumbles to his feet and is aided by a shoulder to lean against, the Dai’s arm wrapped around too-slim shoulders. They headed to the tower. Malik intent that his eagle would fly again, even if he had to throw the man from the watchtower himself. 

He paraded the younger man through the fortress like a prisoner, out onto the training grounds, and up to the tower. The only guards they met were stationed at the top of the ladder, the two men looked shocked but still unsurprised by what a wraith their fearless leader had become. And while they were skeptical, they let them pass. Malik wouldn’t ever purposely kill their Master, after all. 

“Why?” His voice was still weak from disuse, but no longer as hollow as it was in his chamber, as if distance from the infernal device was healing him. And perhaps it was. 

“You will jump, brother. I am long past my patience for your idiocy. I never thought I’d say it, but I miss the arrogant bastard who lost me an arm. At least he _lived_.” 

And before Altair can apologize, _again_ , for the loss of his arm and brother, Malik walks him to the edge of a platform, and pushes him off. 

The other floundered, arms waving like a true novice, as he tried to balance into the fall, but he easily righted himself, slipping back into the familiar posture, and Malik smiled. Even if only for a moment, their eagle was back. His Altair was back and he was flying like he was meant to. No longer caged by guided bars and entertained with shining toys, he was free. 

All too soon the jump ends, and Malik descends to find out if he managed to maim the esteemed leader of their order or if he actually managed to clear the man’s mind. 

He finds no evidence of Altair among the haystacks. Until he hears the mad giggling from the center pile of horse-feed. The sound is foreign, not Altair’s usual deep chuckle or even his mad, far too proud of himself gloating, but high-pitched insane tones of pure joy. 

“Altair, brother are you hurt?” 

“N-no.” He chokes around his laughter. Managing to force out a stilted “I’m alright” before climbing from the hay. 

His eyes have that familiar quality about them, the glee that came from soaring across rooftops and sheathing his blade into the flesh of some gluttonous pig, and Malik is glad to see it. The look is common in a way that is not aching, does not reek of sorrow and pain, and it is perhaps the most beautiful thing the older man has seen in months. 

“Do me a favor and don’t do that again. I don’t have the time to babysit you.” 

Altair closes the distance between them, seals their lips in a way that has been absent for too long and whispers his thanks.


End file.
